The Fat Tail of Book Publishing

In my day job as a marketer, I sometimes come across things that make me think marketing and book publishing aren’t so different. That happened recently while I was listening to the Future Commerce podcast, which had as their guest Rory Sutherland, the chairman of Ogilvy, one of the marque branding, advertising, and PR agencies.

He talked about the fragmentation of market segments into lots of smaller artisan brands. That sounds a lot like the rise of indie publishers and self-publishing.

He talked about brands co-creating products and content with their customers. That sounds like what happens in some author communities, on Substack with some serialized stories that are driven by reader feedback, and with some Kickstarter campaigns with tiers that bring funders into the story.

And he talked about how marketing is fat-tailed, saying, “10% of what you do delivers 130% of the value, but you don’t know what the 10% is in advance.” Now that sounds an awful lot like publishing—except the 10% figure is too high. We know from the Penguin Random House antitrust trial that just 4% of book titles account for the majority of publishing profits.

It’s an understatement to say there’s a fair amount of chance involved in success and, just as in R&D, you learn from your failures. Just today I was reading an interview in Agents and Books with Lindsay King-Miller, the author of This Is My Body, The Z Word, and Ask a Queer Chick, and she said, “Just because my first book didn’t launch my career like I hoped doesn’t mean it was a waste of time. … I made friends and connections and developed skills that I still use.”

I found that inspiring, and I hope any other inspiring novelists reading this do, too. I’m prepared to roll the dice a few times and see if I get lucky. I’m also prepared to learn from my mistakes and keep going. Whatever your dreams are, I hope you’re prepared to roll the dice and take some chances on yourself, too.

Listen to Rory Sutherland on the Future Commerce podcast

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Where to draw the line with genAI

I’m a member of the group that’s most bullish on generative AI and the group that’s the least. That’s because I’m a marketing strategist at a tech company by day and an aspiring novelist by night. The latest survey from Substack illustrates the extreme divide between these two groups.

Wearing both of these hats, here are major issues I see:

  1. Anything created substantially using genAI can’t be copyrighted. (And if governments are smart, that will never change.) This is why agents and publishers want to know if you’ve used AI in your book, because it could potentially zero out the commercial value of your book. AI-generated images for covers are similarly problematic.
  2. Using genAI opens you up to plagiarism lawsuits until the law gets settled here, which could take years. This is why some of our Fortune 1000 clients write into our agency service contacts that we can’t use genAI for any of the work we do for them. They don’t want the legal risk since they’re big legal targets already. The Big Five publishers surely feel the same way.

Of course, many writers feel genAI is morally wrong because it’s essentially a plagiarism engine. And their minds won’t change even if the courts rule that genAI’s use of copyrighted material is transformative (which is highly likely to happen).

But putting those feelings aside for a moment, let’s recognize that some genAI uses don’t run afoul of those two issues above because they’re noncommercial. For example, turning your human-authored book summary into social media posts to promote your book. Or creating AI-images of your protagonists based on the descriptions in your book to use on social. Or taking the short author bio you wrote for your jacket copy, adding a bunch of details, and having genAI draft a long bio for your website.

Let’s also acknowledge that genAI is a huge boon for people with dyslexia and ADHD, as well as non-native English speakers.

All of that said, I’ve made the personal decision not to use genAI in any way for the writing of my novels, including AI-infused editing tools like Grammarly. At the end of this very long road, for better or worse, I want to be able to take full credit (along with my editors and beta readers) for everything in my novels, including the human imperfections.


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Why I self-published my nonfiction books

Honestly, I didn’t give much thought to trying to get my nonfiction books traditionally published. Here’s why:

  • I’d worked at two book publishers, Texas A&M University Press and Marlowe & Co., so I was familiar with the publishing process.
  • I knew platform size is the primary determinant of nonfiction book success and that I already had a solid platform.
  • As a former managing editor at a magazine, I was confident in my page layout skills.
  • I knew Amazon had 70% of the book market, so being present in that one store would give me exposure to the majority of book buyers. (That made publishing through KDP a no-brainer.)
  • I knew self-publishing would be much faster.
  • I also knew I’d have much more control and already had a clear vision for the book.

Thankfully, all of those things turned out to be true. In less than a year, I was able to write the 214-page first edition of Email Marketing Rules, have it edited by some of my trusted industry friends, get it professionally copyedited, and publish it.

But there were additional benefits of self-publishing I didn’t realize until later. For example, a traditional publisher would have never allowed me to publish a 322-page second edition 18 months after the first edition. And they definitely wouldn’t have allowed me to publish a 677-page two-volume fourth edition.

Did all of those decisions maximize profitability? I’m sure they didn’t. But I don’t regret any of them, because those decisions capitalized on my excitement and allowed me to create books I’ve always been proud to put my name on.  

Self-publishing gives you lots of control. Make sure you’re using it to maximize your vision.

All four editions of 'Email Marketing Rules' by Chad S. White

All four editions of Email Marketing Rules


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When Novels Mattered: A misread on what’s changed in the world of literature

David Brooks’ New York Times article When Novels Mattered (link to gift article) is the latest salvo against the declining relevance of fiction, and in particular literary fiction. He blames this decline on the popularity of genre fiction, the rise of the internet, M.F.A. programs, and ultimately (and predictably) on liberal politics. My two cents is that only one of those events had a significant impact on shaping the current literary marketplace.

The Internet-Driven Collapse of the Monoculture

In the mid- to late 20th century that Brooks idealizes, media was tightly controlled by a relatively small number of institutional players. And then came the internet. Web 1.0 shook the monoculture, but Web 2.0 destroyed it.

Streaming completely undid TV, which also competes with YouTube and TikTok. What remains of radio competes with streaming services and podcasts. News organizations compete with individuals and corporations and social media at large—a transition I have witnessed and experienced first hand as a journalist, then blogger, and then brand journalist and content marketer. And, of course, traditional book publishers now compete with self-publishing—another anti-establishment trend I have happily participated in. Because of their tremendous costs, movies are the last bastion of monoculture (which is why we’re seeing yet another Superman).

The consequence of all this new competition is that there are far fewer mega-hits in every medium, not just in books. At the same time, our culture is much richer and much more representative than it was 40 years ago. The democratization of media has been a wonderful thing. The pie is not only bigger, but way more people have gotten a slice of it. That’s good for creators and even better for consumers.


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